


More Useful Than an Enemy

by PersonalSpin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (gone wrong gone sexual), Alternate Universe, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blow Jobs, Handcuffs, Interrogation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Scion Hanzo Shimada, Semi-Public Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 10:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16554350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonalSpin/pseuds/PersonalSpin
Summary: The cowboy was a rare opportunity — a thick cock, a smoky voice, and a little danger — and Hanzo had been trained to take every opportunity presented to him.Hanzo is captured by Blackwatch while snooping around their safehouse and meets McCree. What happens next may shock you. (They have sex.)





	More Useful Than an Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> look, this fuckin wip has been sitting in my files since BEFORE the scion skin was even a thing. it's not been beta'd so let me know if there's any glaring errors in this thing - i changed my mind re: tenses a couple of times and might have missed any slips

They needed information on the organisation that called itself Blackwatch; the easiest way to do that was to get inside, and there was only one easy way to get inside.

There was nobody Hanzo trusted to get captured without getting themselves killed or folding under interrogation. Except perhaps Genji, but there were other reasons he would not send his brother to do this. So it was Hanzo who sat in Blackwatch’s interrogation room, hands cuffed behind his back and blood in his mouth. There was nothing in the room save a chair opposite the one he is cuffed to and a one-way mirror, and nothing to occupy him but his large and painful collection of bruises. He had to make his capture believable, after all. Hanzo was only disappointed that his silk waistcoat had blood stains and that he’d broken his watch when he’d used it to break someone’s nose.

They left him alone in the room for an hour. Hanzo likely would have done the same in their position but if they thought an overactive imagination would be enough to break him, they'd be severely disappointed. He was glad though when the door opened — pretending that he hadn’t slipped out of the handcuffs 58 minutes ago was tiresome.

The first thing that came to mind about the man who'd walked into the room was something Genji was fond of saying: ‘ _built like a brick shithouse_ ’. Hanzo had never understood the phrase until now, as he stared openly at the breadth of the man’s shoulders, the thick muscles of his forearms, the way his thighs strained the dark leather of his chaps. Staring at his thighs inevitably lead to staring at his cock, every bit as big as the rest of him, and accentuated by the gaudy belt buckle that sat low on his thick waist. It should have looked ridiculous, but Hanzo’s mouth went dry just imagining pulling the buckle aside to feel the weight of his cock on his tongue, the heat in his throat.

A cigar butt dropped past his waist and Hanzo tore his eyes away to look at the man’s face. A stetson kept much of his face in shadow, though Hanzo could discern barely tamed sideburns and a slow smirk as the man ground the smouldering remains of his cigar under his heel.

“Well now,” he said in a honeyed drawl. Hanzo’s skin tingled just listening to him. “Y’got such pretty eyes for a snake.”

The man stalked over to Hanzo with utter confidence in every line of his body. Cocksure. The cowboy lifted the brim of his hat to drag his eyes slowly up and down his captive, and Hanzo could appreciate his handsome features, his dark eyes and strong nose. His arrogance was also attractive, if Hanzo was honest, and he leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair and spread his legs to watch the way the cowboy followed the movement. His pink tongue peeked out to wet his lips, seemingly unconsciously. Hanzo had to hold back a smirk of his own.

Until the cowboy put his boot on the chair between Hanzo’s thighs and leaned in so close that Hanzo could smell the cigar smoke clinging to him. His cock was close enough that Hanzo could imagine he saw it throbbing under his intense scrutiny. It took all of his willpower not to lean forward and press his face against where his spread thighs met his groin, the desire to sink his teeth into the thick muscle there making his jaw ache.

“Name’s McCree, n’ I got good eyes too,” the cowboy said lowly. McCree tapped under his eye, staring intently at Hanzo. “I’ll know when you’re lying so I suggest you don’t.”

“No lies,” Hanzo agreed. He smirked at McCree with hooded eyes. He still intended to get his answers from Blackwatch but an ally was always more useful than an enemy. The cowboy was a rare opportunity — a thick cock, a smoky voice, and a little danger — and Hanzo had been trained to take every opportunity presented to him. He rationalised it but in truth he was determined that he would not leave until he had seen if McCree was big everywhere, had gotten a taste for himself. “What information would be sufficient for you to fuck me against the wall?” he asked, his voice a low purr.

McCree’s jaw dropped a little and his eyes went wide. Hanzo's smirk widened as McCree’s cock gave a definite twitch and he leaned in—

“McCree!” A man barked from the open doorway. McCree and Hanzo looked over to a tall blond man in an Overwatch uniform, scowling at them both and tapping his foot impatiently. “Do not start the interrogation without proper authorisation.”

“Of course, Jack,” McCree drawled with a barely restrained eyeroll. “Jus’ having a chat, is all. Lettin’ him know the score.”

Jack jerked his head at the corner. “I don’t know what stunt Gabe thinks he’s pulling sending you here but this is my show and you follow my orders.”

McCree let out a low laugh as he moved away, sauntering to the corner like he was simply humouring Jack by following his orders. The intruder dropped into the other chair and gave Hanzo an unimpressed once-over. Hanzo wanted to snarl at the audacity to look at him like that, for frustrating his plans for McCree, but settled for a haughty glare down the length of his nose. McCree laughed again.

Hanzo had been trained from childhood to resist interrogation. Ignoring the Overwatch agent as he listed his questions was simple, and dull, and soon enough Hanzo’s eyes strayed back to the cowboy propping up the wall. McCree had his thumbs hooked into his belt, either side of that ugly buckle, his hip cocked and all but begging Hanzo to drag his eyes over his cock. Hanzo did with pleasure, focussing on the growing bulge and how it was already pushing against the tight confines of his jeans. Imagined how the curve of his dick would fit so nicely in his palm and mouth.

His eyes took a long, meandering path up McCree’s body, taking in the dark hair and tattoo on his forearms. Hanzo wanted to suck a bruise there, and he didn’t try to hide how he bit down on his own bottom lip until it was plump and red, darting out his tongue to wet it. McCree’s chest was hidden under a chestplate — Hanzo would simply have to imagine what the cowboy was hiding and looked forward to peeling it off of him.

The shadows of his stetson couldn’t hide McCree’s toothy smirk or the way he rolled his shoulders, his hands clenching and unclenching, like he could feel Hanzo’s gaze on him. Their eyes met for a moment, scorching and intense, before Hanzo returned to mentally undressing him.

“Am I not holding your attention?” Jack asked suddenly, snapping Hanzo’s attention back to the interrogation he was being subjected to.

“I will not answer your questions,” Hanzo snapped, glaring at him.

Jack returned the glare as he sat back, looking half as frustrated as Hanzo felt. He glanced at McCree. “You were getting pretty cozy with him earlier,” Jack said. “Think you could get some answers?”

“Sure,” McCree said with a small shrug, as though it made no difference to him either way. Jack got up from the chair with a grunt and looked set to lean against the wall as well — on seeing Hanzo’s scowl he reconsidered. Jack left the interrogation room with only a last meaningful look in McCree’s direction who missed it entirely, preoccupied as he was with looking at Hanzo.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Jack, McCree dropped into the chair and sprawled with his knees so far apart it was indecent. Hanzo could see everything and it served to derail his train of thought entirely. McCree didn’t help as he reached down to adjust himself with a grunt that hit Hanzo like a punch in the gut. “Ares, can we get a li’l privacy?”

“Activating blackout protocols,” a deep voice announced from overhead.

Hanzo quirked a brow at McCree who gave him a toothy grin in return, sliding further down the chair and stretching out his long legs. “Just makin’ sure nobody’s peeking in on us.” He rubbed at his sideburns as he gave Hanzo a thoughtful look. “Fuck you against the wall, huh?”

“Or the floor,” Hanzo said with his own shrug. “I am curious to see if you can lift me or if those arms are simply for show, but if that is your preference—”

“Nothing about me’s just for show, darlin’,” McCree said, his hand falling from his sideburn to rest on his thigh, his fingertips only inches away from his bulge.

“That belt buckle of yours makes a liar of you. It’s astonishingly hideous.” Hanzo wrinkled his nose as McCree only barked a laugh. “And your boots have three inch heels. And your hat—”

“Hey now, don’t go insulting a man’s hat,” McCree said, clutching his chest in mock-offence. Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Just for that, I’m gonna have to ask you some questions 'cause unlike you, I was listenin’ to Jack. Now, I don’t reckon I can get much from ya, not without resorting to the kind of tactics I’d hate to use on such a pretty face.”

“You may try,” Hanzo said, grinning wide enough to show the blood on his teeth.

The smirk McCree gives him is equally feral. “Got my own questions though. Real simple. You answer ‘em and I’ll see about fucking you ‘til you cry.”

Hanzo considered it for half a second before he nodded and leaned back in his chair. “You may have three,” he said with all the lordly assurance he possessed as the scion of the Shimada-gumi.

McCree hummed an acknowledgement, his eyes going hooded as he regarded Hanzo. “Firstly, what were you doin’ around our safe house?”

Hanzo shrugged. “I was curious.”

McCree narrowed his eyes and Hanzo could laugh. He visibly debated with himself about asking Hanzo to elaborate and losing one of his questions, if this was something he wanted to risk pushing. McCree proved he wasn’t just a handsome face and a big dick when he let it go — Hanzo was almost impressed. “Alright. Secondly, how long were y’gonna pretend to still be handcuffed?”

Hanzo moved his arms out from behind his back, twirling the handcuffs around his finger. “For as long as it proved advantageous. Last question, McCree.”

“Last one,” McCree agreed. He didn’t ask it however. Instead, he got comfortable in his chair — something Hanzo knew for a fact was impossible — and simply looked at Hanzo like he had all the time in the world. Hanzo did not squirm as the cowboy studied him, paying particular attention to the sliver of Hanzo’s tattoo visible beneath his rolled cuff.

Hanzo lost his patience when he realised they might spend all day waiting for McCree. “What?” he spat. “ _Speak_.”

“What’s your name, sugar?”

Hanzo blinked at him, feeling thrown for the first time since he’d decided he needed information about Blackwatch. But he had promised, no lies— “Hanzo.”

“Hanzo,” McCree drawled in his deepest voice. Hanzo sucked in a breath and suppressed a shiver, only half-succeeding. “Just as pretty as you are. I guess since that was my last question, I can’t ask if you’d like to come a li’l closer—”

Hanzo bolted out of his chair as casually as he could and dropped into McCree’s lap. The cowboy’s large hands immediately settled at his waist. Hanzo could feel the heat of him through his clothing. McCree smirked as Hanzo had shivered, so Hanzo knocked his hat off in retaliation and grabbed a fistful of his hair. “What is so funny, cowboy?” Hanzo asked, pulling until McCree had to bare his throat. “Is something about me amusing to you?"

Rather than yelping or complaining, McCree’s eyes fluttered closed as he moaned deeply, flushing red from his hairline down to the collar of his shirt. Hanzo filed it away as information for later and loosened his grip, enough the McCree would keep his hair and the dazed look in his eyes. McCree swallowed thickly. “Oh nothing, darlin’,” he said breathily, cracking open an eye as he smirked like he’d won something. ”Just thinkin’, for all your snarling and mean looks, you sure jumped up quick. You’re cute when you’re impatient.”

Hanzo gave into the temptation and bit a bruise over McCree’s pulse point. He drew back to blow cool air over the damp skin, grinning when McCree shivered and clutched harder at his hips. “I am not cute,” Hanzo said, sitting up so he could speak directly into McCree’s ear and grinding against his bulge.

“You’re adorable,” McCree insisted infuriatingly. Hanzo growled and abandoned his hold on McCree’s hair so he could wrestle with his belt. McCree helpfully lifted his hips so Hanzo could pull it through his belt loops — lifting Hanzo in his lap as well, effortlessly, and Hanzo was starting to suspect it hadn’t been an empty brag about his muscles. “Thought you were gonna bite Jack when he interrupted you eye-fucking my dick,” McCree continued as though Hanzo wasn't unzipping his jeans. He wasn’t wearing any underwear — Hanzo wasn’t surprised.

His cock twitched in the cold air of the interrogation room, a bead of precum welling up. Hanzo wanted to taste it but it wouldn't do to seem too eager, so he leaned back when all he wanted was to get closer. “Do you ever stop your prattling?” Hanzo asked as he unbuttoned his waistcoat.

McCree hummed distractedly, focussing entirely on Hanzo’s hands as he parted his waistcoat and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. Hanzo found he liked having McCree’s whole attention and moved even slower, watching him stare at the barest hints of his collar bones, the curve of his dragon’s tail over his chest. McCree’s hands twitched where he gripped Hanzo’s hip but didn’t try to rush him. His shirt only half opened, Hanzo cupped his chest before sliding his hands down the hard muscles of his torso. McCree couldn’t seem to look away, his eyes scorching.

Hanzo reaching for his own belt was what shook McCree from his stupor. He batted Hanzo’s hands away and wasted little time undoing Hanzo’s pants and yanking down his underwear. Hanzo's erection bobbed in midair, already a little damp, and McCree looked positively gleeful as he tucked the band of his underwear behind his balls. It was ridiculous how exposed Hanzo felt but McCree had a way of looking at him, and only looking, that made Hanzo go warm and desperate to be touched.

“Think y’like my prattling,” McCree said lowly, his voice thick and warm as honey and deeper than before.

Hanzo retaliated by grabbing McCree’s cock to see if that would finally silence him, only for him to realise it was possibly even bigger than he had guessed. McCree barked a laugh at whatever Hanzo’s face looked like, his grin no less triumphant for how he tried to push his hips up into Hanzo’s hand. “Found something you like, baby?” he asked with a cheesy wink.

Rather than say something they both knew, Hanzo grasped the both of them, stroking their cocks with long, firm pulls. McCree didn't seem to mind that he was avoiding the question as he tipped his head back and groaned. It was too good an opportunity not to take, and Hanzo bit another bruise into McCree’s throat as he slicked his hand with their precum. It smoothed the way a little but Hanzo kept his grip tight and a little mean, enjoying how McCree’s thighs jumped beneath him on every down stroke.

He fit so nicely in Hanzo’s palm, against Hanzo’s cock. He was so focussed on the pull and slide, the heat where they were pressed together, that Hanzo startled when McCree’s hand came up to grip his bicep hard. “Hanzo, darlin’,” McCree begged, but he didn’t push him away or pull him closer. Hanzo rubbed under the head of his cock until McCree’s voice broke on a whine.

Hanzo moved away when he realised he was pressed up against the cowboy, panting out desperate little noises as he watched McCree fuck against his cock, into his fist. There’s salt on his lips from McCree’s skin which joins with the bitterness as Hanzo sucked the precum from his fingers. “So, McCree," Hanzo said. "The wall or the floor?”

The slack-jawed look vanished as McCree almost shot up out of the chair, grabbing Hanzo under the thighs and lifting him as he stood. The squawk Hanzo let out was undignified at best — he was not a small man, compact with heavy muscle, and he threw his arms around McCree’s broad shoulders in surprise.

McCree only let out a grunt as he hefted him up against the wall, higher, until Hanzo was almost folded in half with his legs slung over McCree’s shoulders and his cock at eye-level. The casual display of strength had him biting back another embarrassing noise, as did the way McCree grinned with all his teeth at the damp cock twitching in front of his face. “Hello, sweetheart,” he cooed, decidedly not looking Hanzo in the eye.

“Do not greet it,” Hanzo gritted out, squeezing his eyes shut to escape the hunger on McCree’s face. For all his training to resist torture, nothing could have prepared him for how tightly wound McCree had him just from looking.

He can’t escape McCree’s warm breath washing over him though, how his fingers are bright spots of pain digging into Hanzo’s hips and ass. McCree breathed a laugh as he buried his face where Hanzo’s thigh met groin. The bristles of his sideburns scratched Hanzo’s shaft and balls and he was wracked by a full body shiver.

“I hear ya, pumpkin,” McCree murmured moments before he like a hot stripe up the underside of Hanzo’s dick. Hanzo’s eyes snapped open in time to watch McCree press a wet kiss to the head, dipping his tongue in the slit, and a strangled noise escaped him unbidden.

McCree drooled liberally over Hanzo’s cock, licking the shaft and sucking kisses into whatever bit of skin caught his eye. Hanzo’s toe curled in his boots as sparks danced along his nerves and exploded behind his eyes. McCree put all of his not inconsiderable focus to pulling Hanzo apart piece by piece with only his tongue and lips, and the part of Hanzo that wasn’t moaning breathlessly and bucking in McCree’s hold until his fingers left bruises was furious at the teasing.

“McCree,” Hanzo tried to growl, sounding much too breathy even to his own ears to be threatening. He tried to pull McCree closer by the back of the neck but he didn't allow himself be moved very far, his lips sliding over slick skin, until Hanzo tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of McCree’s neck and tugged hard. McCree gave another deep moan as he mouthed at the sliver of skin where his hands had pushed up Hanzo's shirt. “I asked you to fuck me,” Hanzo sneered, “not make a mess of yourself on my cock.”

“So you did,” McCree drawled, his voice honey sweet. He looked up at Hanzo and something about his grin, with bruised lips and dark eyes, sent another delicious thrill through him. Hanzo would blame his shudder on the hot breath gusting over his skin and the flush on his cheeks from arousal. “Why don’t ya tell me what you want.” The hands at Hanzo’s waist gave him a squeeze that was entirely too proprietary.

It was hard to remember why he had stopped McCree when he felt surrounded by him, pinned in place by his eyes as much as his hands. “There are better uses for your mouth than asking inane questions,” Hanzo managed to grit out.

McCree chuckled and Hanzo’s cock twitched embarrassingly, dripping precum. There was no hiding how his thighs shook where they bracketed McCree’s head, how his hand twisted in his hair. McCree still made no move to end his teasing, when he was so close to where Hanzo wanted him. Hanzo almost despaired when McCree found a spot under the head of his cock that made him moan and lavished it with attention, humming with pleasure.

Biting back a frustrated noise, Hanzo squeezed McCree’s neck in warning — he meant to threaten him but what came out was a single choked, “ _please_.”

“Since you asked so nicely, sweetpea.” McCree gave him another wink and finally, finally sank down on to Hanzo’s cock.

If he thought that it would be easier without the teasing, being surrounded by the heat of McCree’s mouth was much, much worse. All of Hanzo’s breath left him on a high whine; he had to bite his own knuckle to keep back more of the needy little noises he could feel welling up in his chest. The stretch of McCree’s lips around him was obscene, as was the groan McCree gave as Hanzo bumped against his palate.

There was no stopping the jolt every time McCree tongued at that spot under his cockhead that left Hanzo gasping — he felt like he wasn’t getting enough air, like he was drowning in the feeling of _hot wet tight_.

Hanzo tried to take in a deep breath, to wrestle back some control over himself. That was the moment McCree slid down until all of him was engulfed and his throat fluttered around his cockhead. “Fuck!” Hanzo shouted, his hand falling from his mouth to grasp McCree’s shoulder. The urge to buck deeper made Hanzo lighthearted, panting with need, and then McCree swallowed around him.

His thoughts reduced to static and it was only through supreme control that he didn't come down McCree’s throat. Hanzo choked on nothing when McCree moved back, letting Hanzo’s cock fall from his mouth. The chill air stung and Hanzo could only moan weakly at the sight McCree made, panting wetly and eyes glazed-over, lapping at the precum streaming down his shaft. “You close, baby?” McCree asked, urgent and fucked-out just from sucking his dick. “Ya want to come in my mouth? Fuck, Hanzo, I want you to.”

Hanzo couldn't be embarrassed by how eager his nod was; in the moment nothing seemed as important as getting McCree’s mouth back on him. He smiled at Hanzo, a little lop-sided and less vicious than his other grins, and took him back into his mouth. Hanzo could only hold on, his fingers clenching and unclenching at the back of McCree’s neck.

His orgasm rushed over him, electric pleasure sparking through Hanzo from his fingertips to his toes until he howled. He'd never come so hard before and McCree, true to his word, kept swallowing around him. When the white-hot pleasure faded and the static cleared, Hanzo was left completely limp in his hold, wrung out and numb from the waist down.

He blinked back to reality when he felt McCree pressing wet kisses to the skin of his stomach. "You back, gorgeous? God, you're so hot, yer amazing, never met anyone like you before..."

"Let," Hanzo started, clearly his throat again when it sounded hoarse. Like he'd been wrung out like a dish cloth, which wasn't too far from the truth. "Let me down now. Please." The stretch in his thighs was becoming unpleasant; he would feel this tomorrow.

His hands never left their bruising grip on Hanzo's hips but somehow McCree carried him to one of the chairs, collapsing into it with a groan. Hanzo immediately reached for his cock, blood-hot and throbbing in his fist — he hadn't been exaggerating his own pleasure, and something about that hit Hanzo low in the gut. McCree made a low, injured noise, whimpered something that might have been a plea as Hanzo stripped his cock mercilessly.

McCree came with another hurt sound, hips pushing up into Hanzo's fist as he came in hot, messy ropes. The way he moaned Hanzo's name sounded like it was pulled out of him, his face hazy with an emotion Hanzo didn't know how to name. The look changed to one of unashamed satisfaction as McCree slumped into a boneless heap with a sigh. "Damn," he said, rubbing circles into Hanzo's hip. He opened his mouth as though he had more to say before changing his mind and shutting it again.

Hanzo wiped his hand on McCree's shirt — getting a disgusted grunt for his trouble — and considered his options. It seemed a shame to cut his afterglow short but it was only a matter of time before someone attempted to restrain him again.

McCree turned towards him when Hanzo leaned forwards, his expression soft and almost sweet, which lasted until the handcuffs clicked into place. The confusion slid into betrayal before settling on resignation; McCree didn't even try to stop Hanzo from leaving his lap, just tucked himself back into his jeans with his free hand. "Helluva long play, darlin'." He was too old to be sulking but it was the only word that seemed appropriate as he made a moue and rattled his cuffed hand. "What was your plan if that hadn't worked out? Dropkick Jack and make a break for it?"

Hanzo shrugged as he zipped up his own pants. "Then call him." McCree pursed his lips in silence and Hanzo turned away with a snort. "When your blackout protocol deactivates, I shall be gone — or you can waste your time looking for me. It is your decision."

McCree had no response for that. Hanzo tried not to think about how it'd looked like he was going to kiss McCree, or how much McCree had looked like he'd wanted it. Instead he bent down to retrieve McCree's belt from the floor and turned the buckle over in his hand. It really was an obnoxious piece of sartorial extravagance, bright gold with a winged skull, and if Hanzo didn't know better at this point he'd think McCree was compensating.

"Hold up, don't—"

Hanzo swiftly ignored McCree's warning, taking no small amount of satisfaction in pulling the buckle free from the leather and tucking it into his waistcoat. "You took my weapon from me, it's only fair that I take something of yours."

"Goddamnit." Picking the lock was pitifully easy. Hanzo didn't look back, and was already opening the door when McCree spoke again. “Won’t get me so easy next time, sweetpea.”

Hanzo paused before turning to look back. McCree was smirking entirely unlike a man who was currently handcuffed to a chair — his confidence threw Hanzo. “We will not meet again,” he said, trying to keep it from showing.

McCree’s smirk only grew wider. “You go right ahead and think that if y’like.”

Hanzo left McCree handcuffed to the chair, seeing nobody as he made his way out of the building. It was fortunate, really — Hanzo doubted he could convince anyone that his limp was the result of his bruises.


End file.
